The Burning Shore

When Michael taxied the SESa down to where she waited and swung it broadside to the distant airport buildings, she sprinted out from cover, tossed the bag up to him, and scrambled on to the wing. This time there was no hesitation and she clambered up into the cockpit like an old hand.

Head down, Michael ordered and swung the aircraft on to line for the take-off.

All clear, he told her once they were airborne and she popped her head up again, just as eager and excited as she had been on the first flight. They climbed higher and still higher.

See how the clouds look like fields of snow, and the sunshine fills them with rainbows. She wriggled around in his lap, to look back over the tailplane, and then a quizzical look came into her eyes and she seemed to lose interest in the rainbows.

Michel! She moved again in his lap, but with deliberation.

Michel! No longer a query, and her tight round buttocks performed a cu

Forgive me! He tried desperately to move out of contact, but her posterior hunted after him, and she twisted her upper body around so that she could place both arms around his neck and she whispered to him.

Not in broad daylight, not at five thousand feet! He was shocked by her suggestion.

Why not, mon cheri She kissed him lingeringly. Nobody will ever know, and Michael realized that the SE5a had dropped a wing and was starting a shallow spiral dive. Hastily he corrected the machine, and she hugged him and began to move in a slow voluptuous rhythm in his lap.

Don't you want to? she asked.

But, but, nobody has ever done it before, not in an SE5a. I don't know if it's possible. His voice was becoming weaker, his flying more erratic.

We will find out, she said firmly. You fly the aeroplane and do not fret yourself, and she hoisted herself slightly and began drawing up the back of her fur coat and the yellow skirt with it.

Centaine, he said uncertainly, and then a little later, Centaine! more definitely, and a little later still, Oh my God, Centaine!

It is possible! she cried triumphantly, and almost immediately she was aware of sensations which she had never suspected were harboured within her. She felt herself borne upwards and outwards as though she was departing her own body, and as though she were drawing Michael's soul out with her. At first she was terrified by the strength and strangeness of it, and then all other emotions were swept away.

She felt herself tumbling and swirling, upwards and upwards, with the wild wind roaring about her, and the rainbow-girded clouds undulating on every side, and then she heard herself screaming, and she thrust all her fingers into her mouth to still her own cries, but it was too strong to be contained, and she threw her head back and screamed and sobbed and laughed with the wonder of it, as she went over the peak and fell down the other side into the gulf, spi

Mac hurried to meet Michael as soon as he cut the engine and climbed out of the cockpit.

You're just in time, sir. There is a pilots briefing in the mess. The major has been asking for you, best hurry, sir, and then, as Michael started along the duckboards towards the mess, he called after him, How is she flying, sir? Like a bird, Mac. just reload the guns for me. First time ever that he hadn't fussed about his machine, Mac thought wonderingly, as he watched Michael walk away.

The mess was full of pilots, all the armchairs were taken and one or two new chums were standing against the wall at the back. Andrew sat on the bar counter swinging his legs and sucking on the amber cigaretteholder. He broke off as Michael appeared in the doorway.

Gentlemen, we are being honoured. Captain Michael Courtney has graciously consented to join us. Despite other pressing and important business, he has been kind enough to devote an hour or two to help us settle our little difference with Kaiser Wilhelm IL I think we should show our appreciation.

There were howls and catcalls, and somebody blew a loud raspberry.

Barbarians, Michael told them haughtily, and dropped into the armchair hastily vacated by a new chum.

Are you comfortable? Andrew asked him solicitously. Do you mind if I carry on? Good! Well, as I was saying, the squadron has received an urgent despatch, delivered by motor-cycle less than half an hour ago, direct from divisional headquarters. He held it up and waved it at arm's length, pinching his nostrils with the other hand so that his voice was nasal as he went on.

You will be able to smell the quality of the literary style and the contents from where you are sitting- There were a few polite guffaws, but the eyes that watched him were screwed up nervously, and here and there were little nervous movements, the shuffling of feet, one of the old hands cracking his knuckles, another nibbling on his thumbnail, Michael unconsciously blowing on his fingertips, for all of them knew that the scrap of coarse yellow paper that Andrew was waving at them might be their death warrant.

Andrew held it at arm's length and read from it.

From Divisional Headquarters, Arras.

To the Officer Commanding No. 21 Squadron RFC.

Near Mort Homme.

As Of 24:00 hrs 4th April 1917, you will at all costs prevent any enemy aerial observation over your designated sector until further orders to the contrary.

That's all, gentlemen. Four lines, a mere bagatelle, but A let me point out to you the succinct phrase "at all costs" without dwelling upon it. He paused and looked over the mess slowly, watching it register on each strained and gaunt face.

My God, look how old they have grown, he thought, irrelevantly. Hank looks fifty years old, and Michael-he glanced up at the mirror over the mantelpiece, and when he saw his reflection, he brushed nervously at his own forehead where in the last few weeks the sandy hair had receded in two deep bays, leaving pink skin like a beach at low tide. Then he dropped his hand selfconsciously and went on.

Begi

Yes? Andrew turned to him expectantly, but Hank subsided back into his armchair.

Just to get this straight, Michael spoke at last. We will all fly the two hours dawn and dusk patrols, that's four hours, and then an additional four hours during the day? Is my arithmetic correct, or does that make eight hours of combat a day?

Give Captain Courtney a coconut, Andrew nodded.

My trade union isn't going to like it, and they laughed, a nervous braying chorus quickly cut off. Eight hours was too much, far too much, no man could exercise the vigilance and nervous response necessary to sustain that length of combat flight for a single day. They were being asked to do it day after day without promise of respite.

Any other questions? Service and maintenance of the aircraft? Mac has promised me that he can do it, Andrew replied to Hank. Anything else? No? All right, gentlemen, my book is open. But the pilgrimage to the bar to take advantage of Andrew's offer was subdued, and nobody discussed the new orders. They drank quietly but determinedly, avoiding each other's eyes. What was there to discuss?